My Evening With Ronald
by BlossomLI
Summary: I'm so sorry. This is what happens...well, you'll see. Actually, just don't read it. Go read another one of my stories. Do yourself a favor. Thank you.


My Evening With Ronald  
Or  
Why Do I BOTHER?!?  
  
  
  
At 3 o'clock in the morning, certain lines start to blur. The line between sleep and wakefulness, for one. Those between fantasy and reality, as well, and those between...well, you'll see.  
  
It was just a normal 3 o'clock in the morning for this dutiful student - I was putting the finishing touches on tomorrow's Spanish paper, a glass of warm milk at one side and my faithful gerbil, Sakura, at the other, her tireless flipping inspiring me to work harder.  
  
Well, almost  
  
I certainly wasn't putting the finishing touches on my anything paper, for one. That's what 8 in the morning is for. The glass of warm milk was actually a can of cold Sprite, the drink of choice among...me. Sakura was indeed doing flips, but the only thing this inspired me to do was kick some annoying gerbil butt. It's cute at first, but really...someone needs to get a hobby.  
  
This is where it gets weird, folks.  
  
When those words are spoken by a girl with an inflatable penguin, you know it's gonna get weird.  
  
There was a knock at the door. I suspected it to be my darling roommate, home late from her "studying' with the boy down the hall. "Door's open," I called, not even looking up from the book I was reading. Why would I bother?  
  
The door slowly squeaked open. Being that the noise was really annoying, I looked up from my reading.  
  
Definitely not my roommate.  
  
Definitely not a female.  
  
Definitely not the first person that I would have expected at my door at 3 in the morning.  
  
Ah well. Things happen.  
  
There stood a tall, red-haired, befreckled boy, a little younger than me, not looking as though he belonged anywhere near my door. "Er...are you - "  
  
I stopped him. "Don't say my name."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I don't need the readers knowing who I am. Besides, it gives me an air of...mystery."  
  
The boy shrugged. "Whatever. But you're...her, right?"  
  
"Call me Blossom. Yes, I am."  
  
"Good." He walked in, closing the door behind him. He crossed over to my bed, and then sat down on the edge. He took a long look around my room. "Er...nice penguin."  
  
"Thank you. You're Ron Weasley, aren't you?" It was hardly a question. Who else would it be? The only person with red hair that I knew was Chris down the hall, but he'd gone to bed hours ago. Actually, Ron looked a bit like Chris.   
  
The things you think of when one of your heroes walks through your door.  
  
"So...what's up, then? Just stopping by? Or is there a reason for your visit?" I was babbling, I knew it, but really - wouldn't you have been? It's RON WEASLEY, for the love of all that's good. You're permitted a bit of babbling when the god walks through your door.  
  
"Well, actually, I have a question." He seemed nervous. I guess being in a room where the only other occupant is a girl who worships your every move can be a bit intimidating.   
  
"Shoot, darling, it's not every day you get to cross the fourth wall and talk to someone for whom you exist only in a children's book."  
  
He began to fiddle with my blanket. "Well, here's the thing. It's not that I don't appreciate what you've done - these stories and all, but me and Harry and Hermione and all, we're getting a bit tired of it all."  
  
My jaw dropped. "Sick of it all? But...what? How did you know about it? I mean, no offense, but you're not real - are you?"  
  
"Real enough. How else would you be talking to me?" Good point, Ronald. "Well, the stories are flattering and all - it's nice to be loved, y'know - it's just that they're so much work!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You think we get stand-ins for the fan stories? Nah, we have to do all the work. After all, the only real work we do comes once a year, when J.K. comes out with a new book." He said the goddess' name softly, as if afraid he would wake her.  
  
"Oh. I suppose that could be annoying..."  
  
"Oh, yeah, just a little. Do you know how many times I've died in the past year? I've been Advada Kedavra-ed at least 20 times, fallen off a broomstick, heck, once Harry killed me, I've committed suicide so many times, been eaten alive by giant hamsters...All that hurts a little." I opened my mouth to speak, but he went on. "And the people I've fallen in love with - I'm no slut y'know. But everywhere I turn there's a new girl who just happens to love flaming red hair. Then there's Hermione, and Lavender or Parvati, sometimes Harry, and even a few Dracos! Do you know what it's like to have to kiss MALFOY?! Numerous times? It's sickening, really it is. And contrary to popular belief, I don't love playing the hero. Oh, yeah, it's no fun being in the shadows all the time, but I'd settle for a - dual hero-ship, I guess you could call it. Me and Harry save the day together - but don't fall in love - and then meet two gorgeous blonde girls - not exchange students from America with some dark secret, just two normal British girls - and get out pictures in The Daily Prophet. That's all. No 'Ron Saves the Day,' no 'Ron is You-Know-Who's Victim,' just 'Ron and Harry Save the Day and Get Some.' Is that so hard?" He seemed slight out of breath at that; his hair was a bit ruffled, his moth lined with bits of spittle.  
  
"Well, I'm sorry. I don't think I've been too bad, have I? I mean, not too taxing.. right?"  
  
"No, not really...but you put me and Hermione together. She's my friend and all, but I don't like her...like that, anyway. I mean, she's too smart, and she likes Krum, doesn't she? She's cute, I guess, if you like that sort of girl - which I don't, mind - can't you give me someone...different? Not someone who will chart our relationship and tell me what I've done wrong and grade me on my kissing."  
  
"Hermione's perfect for you, you just don't realize it yet." He gave me a look of death. I swear, more deadly than any killing curse. It was pure evil. I decided to back off. "Anyway...er..."  
  
"Well, that's about it. We don't mind all the time - I rather like the ones where Crabbe and Goyle or Crabbe and Draco or Draco and Goyle get together - Draco likes Ginny, did you know that? - and Harry likes anything where he gets to kiss a girl. Puberty did a number on that boy." Ron grinned, apparently remembering the 'good' stories. "And most of the time, we don't mind a good author, sometimes we just pretend it's Her and get it done with, but really - Hermione isn't Ms. Uber-slut, Harry isn't Pimp-Daddy Potter (though I think he'd like to be), I'm not Voldie-Fodder. We're just...normal."  
  
Normal. Right. "Hey, you said Voldie, and you didn't even shudder. What's that?"  
  
Ron gave me a funny look, then said, "Oh, that. Well, I'm not really all that afraid of him anymore. It comes when you've killed him 30 times over, you know. He's actually quite understanding about the death thing."  
  
  
"I see...I have a question for you, now."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Er..Do you think you could send Fred on over here, when you get home? It's just that I think...well, I think he'd rather like it here," I lied. I wanted Fred there because I wanted Fred, there.   
  
At that, Ron rose, took a strawberry Pop-Tart from my closet, patted my penguin on the head, and walked out the door.  
  
Not in love with Hermione. Yeah, okay.  
  
  
A/N: I'm soooooo sorry. So very sorry. You know I don't usually write like this, right? I'm a good girl, no stupidity for me! I'm sorry. Don't read this. It's just a way of clearing my mind. Then why did I post it? AHHH!!  
Anyway, I'm working on a much longer story right now. Won't be out for a while. Actually, the first chapter's almost done. There's gonna be a new girl (SORRY!!!), but she's not in the least bit Mary-Sue-ish. She about as perfect as me...that's not very. Anyway, New Chick won't be in the first part, so you can read that without any fear of the NEW PERFECT GIRL WHO EVERYONE LOVES!!! Well, okay then. Don't kill off Ron. It hurts my feelings.   
Pop-Tarts belong to whomever they belong to. However, my Pop-Tarts are mine. Ron is the only person I'd ever allow to take one. Well, maybe Fred...or Chris, he does look like Ron.  



End file.
